


Forgive but don't forget

by no_ah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Forgiveness, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Inter-House Relationships, M/M, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, Team Dynamics, Trauma, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_ah/pseuds/no_ah
Summary: "The war is over. The past is in the past. We have to build our future together now."They're back at Hogwarts for their eighth and final year.All is well.It's got to be. But Harry just can't make his peace with it all because the pictures won't stop flashing before his eyes. Spending his time exclusively with Ron and Hermione just seems to make it worse.So maybe those lessons to improve inter-house-relationships aren't such a bad idea after all. Even if they require for the Chosen One to face Hogwarts' former Death Eaters.





	Forgive but don't forget

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my take on Harry's post-war-trauma, how coming back for 8th year and attempts to unite former enemies would really be like.

“ _Elegant_?!“

Hermione shot Ron a sharp look. It was obviously meant as a warning for him to shut up, but he didn’t seem to care, if he even noticed it at all.  
Not tuning down his volume in the slightest, he went on:  
“You find _Malfoy… elegant,_ ” no longer a question but a statement which the tone of his voice clearly translated to ‘This is the final proof that you’re clearly out of your mind’.

Hermione elbowed his side with a warning ‘shush!’

Harry, like Ron, stared at Luna in absolute disbelief.  
But none of the reactions she’d created seemed to alter the genuine smile on her lips as she nodded at Ron and then let her eyes shift across the room, locking on one Draco Malfoy.

Harry followed her example and spotted the Slytherin by his light hair. He’d draped himself on a chair next to the fire, long legs crossed and his hands placed atop the wooden armrests. His fingers seemed to twitch.  
Malfoy had his eyes narrowed on Luna in a cold gaze and now lifted his chin. He pursed his lips ever so slightly.

He looked positively snobbish, Harry thought. The way he was looking down his nose, his whole appearance would’ve fit a monarch holding an audience while sat on a throne.

And many people had turned now to look at him, too, which played well into that picture in Harry’s mind.

With all this attention directed at him, Malfoy raised his chin even higher.

Snobbish, really, not at all…

“Elegant, yes,” Luna decidedly said. “Does that count?”

Ron shook his head unbelievingly and Luna looked at him, raising her brows. He scattered and threw up his hands defensively. “I guess!”  
Then he stared up to the ceiling and mumbled something along the lines of “ridiculous”.

Hermione nudged him again and hissed.  
“Don’t ruin it, Ron. Be nice,” then she turned to Luna. “It counts,” she decided.

Luna sent a beaming look at Malfoy, who rolled his eyes in response.

Definitely snobbish.

“Alright then, my turn!” cheered Luna and scanned the room.

They were around 25 people, mostly eight-years, sat in the Astrology classroom that the headmistress had provided to them as well as an entire lesson dedicated to the sole purpose of – as she’d called it – “establishing friendly inter-house-relationships”.

To Harry’s horror, she’d announced at the beginning-of-the-year-feast a couple of days ago that in order to break the ice between all returning students who’d fought in the war, especially on opposite sides of it (“the past is in the past, now we will all move on together, and build our future”) there would be _team-building exercises_ to get everyone on the same page.

And this, right here, was proving him right in assuming that it’d turn out to be an incredibly awkward experience. But unfortunately, McGonagall had made it very clear that ditching these lessons was not a wise choice.

Hermione and Ron had spent half an hour yelling at each other in the middle of the common room when Ron had announced that he hadn’t fought Voldemort to end up cuddling up to a lot of ex-Death-Eaters, but she was completely on the headmistress’ side.  
Ron had shot low by reminding her of how much she’d always seemed to love pushing intersectional magical relationships, like back when Viktor Krum had come to visit the school.  
Hermione had shot even lower and demanded it was the least they could all do to put a little effort into giving people second chances, and he should know, as _he too_ had gotten one after abandoning her and Harry in the forest.

It had been a bad fight. But it seemed like once they’d gotten these accusations out of their system, they didn’t hold any more grudges against each other; must’ve been a long time coming.

They’d made up – restraining from public eyes to a more private location, and Harry really didn’t need to know exactly how it happened – and now seemed happier than ever.

Which was not to say they didn’t still argue or tease each other.

But Harry felt a little sting sometimes when he saw them exchange those … looks. Those looks that seemed far too intimate to ever be resembled by any strong worded declaration of love – and Harry knew they weren’t meant for him, or anyone else, to see.

Being around his two best friends had finally turned into what he’d feared a long time ago: it made him feel alone.  
They were not the kind of couple to be all over each other any chance they got – Ron seemed to have had enough of that after his whole Lavender-affair back in the day – but their dynamic had shifted still.  
They were no longer a trio – they were a couple, plus Harry.  
A couple, plus the ex- _Chosen One_.  
A happy couple, plus the _Saviour of the Wizarding World._

He did not want to be. He wanted to forget. But it was impossible, especially around them.

Because though Hermione and Ron still treated him the same as they always had, spending time with them not only reminded him of how very much in love they were, and he was not.

The three of them sitting alone in front of the fire late at night also sent Harry back to cold nights filled with silence and fear, in a tent put up in snowy mountain sides. So he got up and excused himself to bed.  
Hermione handing him a quill over homework was accepting an ice cold amulet from her to put around his own neck. So he clenched it in his fist and splattered ink all over his parchment.  
Ron looking at him with a lost expression when he didn’t follow in class was him asking Harry “What now, what do we do” back at Shell Cottage, next to a gravestone on top of a hill. So Harry turned away, staring at Professor Binns, aching for him to tell them why they were here, and others were not.

Being around them meant never letting his guard down, in case he was hit by yet another painful flashback.

But the reason their company caused him to suffer through it time and again was also the reason he needed them around so badly: because they understood.  
Because they’d been there with him. He didn’t need to explain.

Still, around them, the memories kept coming back, attacking him whenever the tiniest parallel occurred.

This was what had brought Harry to hope that maybe, just maybe, these post-war bonding-lessons weren’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe he’d be able to become closer with people other than Ron and Hermione, people who hadn’t spent the war fighting by his side, but who had too suffered and fought and lost things of unspeakable value.

Who might be able to understand him as they did.

Who would make him feel less… alone.

But of course Harry could never admit this out loud. And he almost felt ashamed for feeling this way in the first place.

Ron and Hermione had always stood by him, they’d never left his side – Ron’s leaving was long forgiven and apart from Hermione’s outburst never mentioned again. They’d all been allowed back to Hogwarts, his home, the place he’d longed to be all that time they’d spent on the run.

He was safe now. Thanks to him, as many people claimed, everyone was safe now.

All was supposed to be well.

He really had no reason to complain.

And while he was still filled with gratitude for this simple fact, finally, after years and years – Harry simply couldn’t settle into a feeling of relief.

Because the nightmares would not let him.

He shivered.

“Harry!”

“Wha-?” He jerked his head up and stared at Luna wide-eyed. She had her finger pointed at him and a mildly concerned smile on her lips.

“I choose you, Harry.”

He blinked and then hurried to answer.

“Oh, er, okay.”

The realization sunk in who he’d just been paired up with and he shot a look at Malfoy, who had crossed his arms in front of his chest, his eyes fixed on the piece of parchment Luna must’ve just picked from the bowl in the middle of the classroom that was holding their tasks.

In a way, this lesson was much like an awkward party game that Harry didn’t really want to play.

Luna however, did. She seemed perfectly content as she unfolded the parchment and read the words quietly before exclaiming ‘ooh!’ and a huge smile spread across her face.

Unsure of whether this really was a good sign, Harry furrowed his brows.

Luna turned excitedly to Malfoy, whose eyes narrowed further, then she read aloud:  
“ _Use a simple temporary charm of your choosing to decorate your partner’s robes._ That’s wonderful!” She sat back and looked between the two of them expectantly.

Malfoy stared at her, then slowly rose and moved to the middle of the room without so much as glinting at Harry, who’d stiffened in his seat.

He stopped and held out a hand to Luna, and she handed him the parchment.

“I didn’t make it up,” she said merrily, “Though maybe we can do that next time, all come up with our own ones.”

Malfoy scanned over the written words, did a quick nod and then gave the piece back to her. She accepted it happily and smiled up to him.

He began to move towards Harry again, his eyes fixed on the floor. Harry shuffled nervously in his seat, wondering if he should stand up.

When he saw Malfoy’s hand move towards his waist, he acted instinctively.

He rose quickly to his feet, his own wand already in hand and pointing it towards the Slytherin.

Harry heard Hermione gasp. Malfoy had frozen in place, his hand under his robe. Harry was panting slightly and he heard Ron behind him quietly murmur “So much for ‘the past is in the past.'”

Suddenly he was overcome by a wave of guilt, though he immediately told himself that it was no bloody wonder he didn’t want to just sit there while _Draco Malfoy_ of all people got to use his wand on him.  
Was he supposed to just relax and let it happen?

“Harry-“ he heard Hermione say quietly.

But he didn’t, couldn’t, turn his eyes away from Malfoy.

The tense silence in the room was suffocating, and Harry realized he had stiffened every single muscle in his body, unable to move.

Finally Malfoy lifted his gaze and met his eyes. He wore an unidentifiable expression, hard but not as cold as he’d looked earlier. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t seem hostile.

Still, Harry would’ve been stupid not to feel threatened.

“Harry, I think you should lower your wand. It’s okay,” he heard Luna say.

A muscle in Malfoy’s jaw twitched. It was the tiniest movement and Harry only saw it because he was searching his face for signs – any signs of what he was thinking.

Harry looked back into his eyes, questioning. Malfoy’s left arm twitched and for the blink of a second, something flickered through his hard grey expression. It looked almost like… pain?

Harry didn’t know why, but he felt like this had been the sign he’d been waiting for. He took a deep breath and lowered his wand, letting it hang down his right side but not putting it away.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Go on, Draco,” Luna said softly.

Harry knew he was overreacting. Malfoy wasn’t going to attack him, not here, not anymore.  
_And he didn’t even do it during the war_ , a voice in the back of his head reminded him.

While that was not technically true – both at Malfoy Manor and in the Room of Requirements he’d most certainly tried (but failed) to get Harry with all kinds of spells – it was true that he had also tried to keep his… _friends?_... from killing him.

Though possibly simply to save his own skin.

He had had a perfect shot, his wand pointed – Harry squinted at the memory – at Dumbledore, and not attacked him.

Though he’d still been the reason his awful aunt and the other Death Eaters had gotten into Hogwarts.

 _But sometimes you don’t have a choice_.

But Harry could not possibly trust him.

And the memories kept rushing in front of his eyes now.

Anticipating Malfoy to draw his wand reminded him of all the awful things he’d done, all the deaths he’d been involved in, in one way or the other, it didn’t matter– _but it does matter_ – he knew he might have been forced to follow, just like Harry had, but it was different, because there was always a choice– his parents, Sirius, Remus, ghosts, walking him into the Forbidden Forest, a green flash of light, _sometimes you don’t have a choice,_ Narcissa Malfoy’s soft hands, her voice desperate, begging, Draco, what about Draco, his own mother, her voice desperate, begging, not Harry, please, not Harry, another flash of green light–

He couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. The room got blurry and his head started to spin. The urge to storm out grew inside him, to run away from the faces, the memories, the violence of it all.

But he knew – from experience – that it didn’t matter how far he’d run, his thoughts would follow.

He couldn’t forget.

The only thing that helped was to try and shove it aside, to steady himself in what was real right now in this moment.

He squinted and then focussed back onto Malfoy’s face. And sure enough, he held his gaze steady as they locked eyes, and Harry rushed back to reality.

Because Malfoy hadn’t moved, his body was still tense, frozen, waiting for Harry’s permission to move again.

_Permission._

No, Harry decided, as he looked at Malfoy, really looked at him, past the filter of war and at the cautious expression on Malfoy’s face.

No.

This boy was not a threat right now. He was not going to hurt him, not right now.

Hundreds of violent pictures still flickered before his eyes, but he clung to the one consistency: Malfoy’s face, still and waiting.  
He was still there.

The spinning room came to a rest and Harry felt the floor underneath his feet again.

McGonagall’s voice rung in his head: “The war is over. We have to build our future together” and Hermione’s joined in: “Everyone deserves a second chance”.

Yes.

The war was over.  
And Malfoy was still there.

Still there, unlike too many others, still there, in front of him, doing this _stupid_ team-building-exercise, because apparently he too wanted to leave it all behind and _‘_ build the future together’, and right in this moment, he was asking Harry for said second chance.

Who was he not to give it to him.

As powerless as he felt against everything else, this much he could do.

So Harry took a deep breath and then nodded quickly, trying to relax the arm that was still holding his wand.

He decided to only concentrate on his breathing, while continuing to watch Malfoy’s face that kept him in the present.

Malfoy nodded back, slowly, while Luna’s cheerful voice said: “That’s it!” and he stepped closer, until he was only an arm’s length away.

Now Harry was the one waiting.

“Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, “I’m going to use my wand.”

Harry finally blinked away from his face to see that his hand still rested under his robes.

He nodded again, not trusting his voice and then tightened the grip on his own wand further, forcing himself to keep it pointed downwards as Malfoy took out his and hesitated. He bit his lip as he scanned the hem of Harry’s robes.

It suddenly dawned on him that Malfoy might be just as scared that he was going to get hexed as Harry. Admittedly, Harry had pointed his wand straight at his face… he felt a slight sting of guilt mixing into the chaos of emotions again.

He tried to smile apologetically – as there was no way in hell he was going to actually put his wand away – but must’ve obviously failed at that because Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock. He cleared his throat and looked at Malfoy’s feet.

“Just do it,” he mumbled.

Malfoy did not answer. Instead, he stepped even closer, stopped for a second and then – Harry’s mouth fell open in surprise.

Malfoy had dropped down on one knee, picking up the hem of Harry’s robe and stretched his fingers under the fabric to create a bigger space. As soon as he’d pointed his wand at it, he began to mouth a spell Harry didn’t believe he recognized.

Though it was hard to pay attention to the damn spell when Malfoy was kneeling in front of him, obviously trusting Harry to not shoot a curse right at his head - his head, only inches from Harry’s stomach, that light blonde hair looking surprisingly soft up close.

It was a strange thing to notice, when there were so many other things he really should be paying attention to. Like the fact that Harry finally found his wand arm completely relaxed. The fact that Malfoy must’ve chosen this method to avoid pointing his wand directly at Harry’s chest and charm away – which was strangely considerate of him. The fact that Harry found the sound of his low incantation oddly soothing. The fact that Harry could see Malfoy’s pulse as the skin at the side of his neck vibrated, right in front of him.

An overwhelming feeling spread in Harry’s chest – the realization that this man was putting himself completely at his mercy even though he’d given him every reason to distrust him less than a minute ago.

Harry found it very irritating. Because it didn’t make any sense. It was reckless, really. Letting his guard down like that.

Not that Harry would want to harm him. Not consciously, however. But these days, he was on edge, his reflexes faster than his mind. He wasn’t sure he’d trust himself not to slip his hand and cast a quick curse he’d be unable to reverse.

Especially with a former Death Eater kneeling in front of him– he forced himself to stop that train of thought.

Malfoy had gone silent and Harry had to look closely to see that the piece of his robe he was holding was now covered in countless single real snowflakes, each shaped differently and magically enlarged. They were shimmering silver as Malfoy let the fabric slide through his fingers.

He cast a quick gaze up at Harry that was more intense than he was prepared for, and Harry froze.

But Malfoy had already turned his head, rose to his feet and stepped back.

Even though he’d taken a stand again, Harry no longer felt the need to lift and point his wand towards him. In fact, he found his instinct telling him to step after the Slytherin, to get closer again, and he didn’t know why.

His feeling of irritation grew when Malfoy would not meet his gaze, his expression hard again and eyes fixated onto the snowflakes he’d produced.

“Lovegood,” he gestured towards Harry’s robe.

Harry had honestly forgotten why they’d been doing this, or that there were other people present.

He quickly looked at Luna who shot him a beaming smile and made her way over to him in a skip-step to investigate Malfoy’s work.

Harry looked at it again. He had to choke down a bitter laugh, because it was just so ridiculous, that the same person who caused him to live through violent and painful series of flashbacks by just looking at him, only seconds later was able to produce something so… delicate.

“Oh, Draco, that’s wonderful! Yes, that definitely counts,” Luna turned around to Malfoy. “You have to teach me that one some time! It’s lovely.”

Malfoy pulled a grimace and it was such a typical _Malfoy_ -reaction, made him look so much like that snobbish prat Harry had first gotten to know him as all those years ago, that he couldn’t suppress a grin.

Former Death Eater or not, he was definitely still a snob.

Though, as Harry looked back down onto the magical silver snowflakes on the hem of his robes, he had to admit that they didn’t really look snobbish but rather… well, _elegant_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully only the beginning.  
> I had this idea about an inter-house-team-building scene and started to write it as a light and fun party-game oneshot.  
> But well, it turned a little more real than I'd planned.  
> This is my second ever fic and I'm working on continuing this.  
> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated!


End file.
